Read Online The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox by Nigel Quinlan - Free Book Online Page B

batted and bashed by flying things that had once been ordinary everyday household objects but were now lethal speeding chunks of pain.
    We were on our backs, the force of the wind sucking us toward the living room. The whirlwind filled it. We grabbed hold of the frame of the doorway, our legs stretching as we were pulled toward the center of the thing. I saw the television fly past, the coffee table, Mum’s favorite china figurines in jigsaw pieces.
    â€œI can’t hold on!” I yelled.
    â€œMe neither!” cried Ed.
    Then the cat came in through the broken window, flowing like oily orange smoke, claws unsheathed, teeth bared, bigger than I’d ever seen him. Bigger than any living cat, bigger than a car, big as some mythical prehistoric cat that used to hunt dinosaurs as though they were mice. He pounced at the whirlwind. Flying furniture bounced off him unnoticed. The whirlwind tried to run away.
    The wind stopped, and we fell in a heap. The whirlwind bent away from the cat, hurling itself back across the room and against the far wall. The cat crouched, lashed it with its paw, hissed and leaped right into the roaring heart of the thing. Crashing and wailing and yowling, the fighting mass of wind and cat tore around the living room, reducing the already battered furniture to splinters, ripping the carpet from the floor and the paper from the wall. Ed and I scooted back from the doorway, hands held before our faces, as a seething wall of glass and wood and metal scoured through the air in front of us.
    I saw the door into the front hall open a crack and a small, frightened face peek through.
    â€œOwen!” I screamed, waving frantically. “Go back! Go back upstairs! Go!”
    Owen was pulled away, and Dad’s face appeared. Then he jerked back and the door shut once more.
    The whirlwind stopped whirling. Two bodies flew in opposite directions, hit opposite walls, and fell to the floor. The cat wailed, bleeding from a hundred cuts. The boy screeched with fear and outrage, jumped to his feet, slipped on the wreckage, but, instead of falling, floated, turning in midair, his face a mask of rage and pain. Hugh Fitzgerald, flying in a limping sort of a way, floated out the window. Neetch, having shrunk back to normal cat size, made one last heroic leap and landed on the small of Hugh’s back, and they both disappeared out into the dawn, wailing and screaming like a pair of hell’s own choirboys.

 
    CHAPTER 10
    LIZ
    Mrs. Fitzgerald’s smile grew wider, her grip tightened, and she began to turn away from the house, bringing me with her. Out through the living room window came Hugh, screeching and struggling with Neetch, who had dug his claws into Hugh’s back. Hugh turned as he flew, went low, and scraped across the lawn, knocking Neetch off. Then Hugh hit the ground and rolled head over heels to a groaning stop at his mother’s feet.
    She looked at me, her smile gone, then down at Hugh.
    Neetch stalked across the grass, growing, blocking out the house, dwarfing us, mouth wide, teeth like sharp white fence posts, tongue red as blood. Mrs. Fitzgerald let go of my wrist and with both hands drew in the air a strange design that burned with green flame and fell like a net over Neetch’s face and head. The cat howled and shrank, and suddenly the air was full of the smell of burned fur and skin. I jumped over Hugh’s prone body and gathered Neetch up in my hands. He was no bigger than a kitten, mewling pitifully, fur smoking.
    I backed away from her, and she watched me go, saying nothing. She stooped and helped Hugh upright. Over at the gate, John-Joe stood with his feet spread and his shotgun ready.
    â€œIs he OK? Is he OK? Is he OK?” Owen cried as he ran up, reaching for Neetch, and I gave him over as gently as I could, then pushed them behind me and kept backing toward the house. Mum, Dad, and Neil rushed out and stopped beside me. Mum put her hand on my shoulder, and